


Regret

by Lingwiloke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, re-embodiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Lingwiloke
Summary: After being re-embodied in Aman, a Noldorin exile is faced with a difficult question.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MeM 2017. Prompt (Green Path, Square One): “It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.” - Stephen King  
> Beta by Goldilocks. Thank you so much, dear <3

My name is Cuilindo, now once again of Tirion. I do not expect you to have heard of me. I am no lord of anyone; I have not made or done or said anything worthy of a place in the annals of our people. I left the Blessed Lands once following a fell fire, and I returned by the deadly bite of another one. Many, old friends and family alike, have since asked me if I regret the choice I made. To leave. So far, I have yet to find an answer to that question.

It is to try to give one now that I am penning these lines; for those whom I left behind, and for those who, like me, have returned to a world that at times now seems stranger to us than the one we found on the Eastern shores.

When I left, it was among the followers of the house of Arafinwe. It was his youngest son, whom you will most likely know as Prince Aikanáro, that I would serve during my time in Beleriand. The lands that he and his brother governed in our Lord Findaráto's stead were far in the North, the plains of Ard-galen and the heights of Dorthonion. Living there, in the immediate vicinity of the Enemy, we always knew that this siege they called "peace" was not going to last forever. Out on the plains, dark fumes from the North obscured the horizon even on the most beautiful of days, and on days when the wind blew southward, the air would be saturated with their acrid smell. We had to be on constant alert; a patrol that returned without having caught sight of the enemy at least once was considered greater cause for concern than one that returned beaten and bloody after too close a brush with death, or worse, one that did not return at all.

I cannot say if any truly believed the siege to be anything more than a temporary stay. I am inclined to say many probably did, for when the High King proposed a renewed assault against the Dark Enemy, our lords alone spoke in favour of his plans. I can say with certainty, though, that none who had lived as close to the shadow as we did had any doubt that the day would come – the day when we would have to face the Enemy's true might and persevere, or more likely, die trying. We knew that, should the Enemy make another attempt at breaking the siege, it would be us who would have to bear the brunt of his attack. We all lived in the knowledge that every day might be our last.

Whenever I chance to refer to those days in conversation with those who stayed behind, pitying glances and awkward silence are my reward, followed by hasty reassurances that now those horrible times are long past. Or, if some certain members of the family are present that never had much love for me or my dreams of far-away lands, I will be told, quite sternly, that had I but stayed home, my life need never have been filled with such suffering and tragedy. There is the expectation, then, that I will nod contritely and agree, and so I have done far too often for the sake of peace. But not today; for those who would tell me so are missing one half of the story.

For if now you should think my days in the lands across the sea, cut short by the hell-fires of Morgoth as they were, were spent in grim resignation, as one condemned merely waiting for the axe to fall, you would be mistaken.

There was beauty to find in the wild lands of Dorthonion too, crisp mountain air and whispers in the fir trees, and on the wide, free plains of Ard-galen: There were tales told by the fireside of exploration and heroic deeds, and sometimes, in more melancholic moments, of our far-away homes and loved ones. There were songs and dancing, hearty meals and spirited drinks. Games of chance and of daring, wild rides on the hunt, and if time allowed, just for the pleasure of feeling the wind in our hair and the land rushing along below us. There was laughter and camaraderie, and for some of us even love. There was the simple joy of being alive.

As dire as our situation was, as heavy as the doom of our people would weigh on our mind at times, there was happiness also. Maybe more so for the threat of loss always in the back of our minds, reminding us to live life to the fullest while we still might.

I died in Middle-earth, and it was no easy death. But I also lived there.

Let that be my answer.


End file.
